The Crazy Keeper's Guide
by Banana Smoothie
Summary: New York is not a good place to run from the police in. Avoid at all costs. Because you run into guys playing the fake Blues on cheap saxophones, and you see a cowboy in his tighty-whitey's, and you trip over hobos.  Also, my clothes were kind of on fire.
1. How To Properly Enter A Nuthouse

**Yay!**

**I've been working on this idea for a while. And I wanted to let you know that if you don't like it...**

**Screw you. **

**Because I like it. :)**

**But hopefully you like it too.**

It's been kind of a bad day for me.

Not like, the-sky-is-falling-and-I-left-my-umbrella-at-home kind of bad. Heck, I don't even own an umbrella. Real men don't need them. But on a scale of one-to-ten, it might have been a seven.

It would have only been, like, a four on the Suck-o-Meter, except then the police got involved, and now I'm well and truly screwed over.

Okay. I realize that exploding a fast-food place is probably kind of high on the List of Things Not To Do Within Sight of a Policeman. But I was running out of options, and at that moment I only saw two.

1. Get eaten.

2. Make something explode.

So, by Jove, I made something explode.

Specifically, a grease-burner and a couple of snake ladies.

Unfortunately, a certain rather chubby policeman wasn't paying quite enough attention to his donut and saw me as I made my getaway, at which point he was probably like, "Oh, look! That vaguely Italian looking kid is a terrorist! That's way more interesting that my Krispy Kreme."

Which, long story short, led to my being chased by three police cars on top of the two _dracaena _that had managed to avoid the fiery fate of their brethren...sistren?

Eh. Grammar. Psh.

Anyway, just so you know, New York is not a good place to run from the police in. Avoid at all costs. Because you run into guys playing the fake Blues on cheap saxophones, and you see a cowboy in his tighty-whitey's, and you trip over hobos, and all in all it's just a sad time.

Also, my clothes were kind of on fire, and I was somehow hot and cold at the same time, and there were snake ladies in the crowd waiting to kill me, and I was under a lot of pressure not to die.

Because that would also be a sad time, and I imagine it's horribly unpleasant. Plus, all of you nice people would miss my excellent company.

Something hissed creepily behind me, and I lunched into a James Bond-esque somersault on the wet pavement just in time to avoid getting skewered by a really long spear.

The guy in front of me on the street was apparently 100% mortal, because the Celestial Bronze tip passed right through his business suit-clad chest. He stopped for a moment, looking down at the protruding deadly weapon, shook his head, and kept walking.

Gods, I love New York.

But the _dracaena _did not like me.

One of them wailed somewhere off to my left, and I realized that I would soon have major health problems (specifically, my organs would be on the outside of my body) if I did not get the heck out of there.

I slipped my secret weapon out of my pocket, which wasn't really a weapon at all. It was Annabeth's invisibility cap. And it wasn't really a secret either. Except that Annabeth didn't know that I'd taken it...

But I'm sure she would be okay with it, since it was about to save my life.

I shoved it onto my head somewhat frantically, and looked down at my hands. Or where they should have been. There was a significant lack of hands there.

A group of kids around my age were getting onto a big old school bus, and I followed. It would be easy to get lost at a high school. And it would be even easier to steal a taxi and get back to camp once I got lost in said high school. I would much rather face the wrath of an angry calculus teacher than snake women. Or at least an angry English teacher.

Calculus is tough.

So, once on the school bus, I sat on that stupid little half seat in the back that no one likes because it's different and kept an anxious grasp on the hat all the way to wherever we were going.

The ride was an interesting one. The kids were going crazy. It seemed like everyone had had a gallon on caffeine prior to their getting on the bus, and everyone was working to be louder than everyone else.

I have no idea who was screaming about hot wings, but whoever you are, you were winning.

There were two or three kids who were just sitting in their chairs, heads down, muttering under their breath or staring blankly out the window.

Personally, I've never been to high school, but these kids seemed a little more ridiculous than I thought they would be.

The bus pulled up to this huge school, and I was a little worried that it was one of those private schools for rich kids with behavioral problems. I would have problem blending in, if that were the case. I may have behavioral problems, but I'm not rich.

And in my burnt t-shirt and tattered jeans, I looked more like the hobos that I'd tripped over than anything else. Maybe a modern, Americanized Aladdin, except with a smaller nose and not Arabian.

But I shuffled off of the bus anyway. I would just keep the hat on until there was no one around, then I'd just slip out like the ninja I truly was.

For a minute, I considered shadow travel, but I was still tired from my little escapade in the McDonald's, so who knows where I would have ended up if I tried to pull that trick? You have to be focused, and right then all I could think about was greasy hamburgers and ghetto chicken nuggets.

The inside of the school was all white and sterile looking, which worried me, because everything I'd heard about high school made me think that it was a giant cesspool. In fact, the things I considered as quintessentially high school were nasty hallways and baby drama. And that's only because Annabeth made me watch The Secret Life of an American Teenager and baby drama is all that ever seems to happen.

Ever.

And, since it was a Sunday, this had to be a boarding school, which should have meant even more drama.

Yay.

But soon, all of the students had filtered out of the hallways into their dorm rooms, and I was alone with my thoughts. Which were now centered on food and American television.

Somebody give this man a freaking corn dog. This is getting pathetic.

I slipped the hat off. It was hot in the building, and my hair was plastered down onto my forehead with sweat already, and it felt disgusting. Not to mention Annabeth would kill me herself if I got my man-sweat on her cap.

And for a second, that was okay.

Until I heard someone walking down the hallways.

And like a n00b, I forgot all about the magical powers of invisibility. I just threw myself through the first door I saw and hoped it was open.

It was.

It was also a dorm room. And not only was it a dorm room.

It was occupied.

See? This day might even be more than a seven.

At first, all I could see was the sweater. It was huge, it would have been big even on myself. It was gray, with zigging lines of putrid green and zagging lines of rusting red and straight lines of faded something-or-other that might have been blue at one point. It was one of those sweaters that you hope to high heaven you're grandmother won't buy you at Christmas.

And here it was, right in front of my eyes. On a girl, no less.

There was a big red mark on her forehead, like she had been leaning up against the wall before my intrusion, and her skin made me think she might have been Native American. Her hair was caramel colored, and one of those weird styles where it was longer in the front than it was in the back. Her eyes were minty green and almost too big for her face, which made her look really young. But she had to been at least my age.

When she looked at me, she didn't look surprised or whatever. She just frowned. "I've never imagined a boy before," she said with a sigh, and went back to leaning her head against the wall.

"Um..." was all my intelligent brain could come up with.

"I'm going to name you Henry," she said. I wasn't sure whether she was talking to me or the wall.

"My name is Nico," I said like an idiot. Why I told her my name, I'm not sure. It was all that I could think of.

She turned and looked at me, blinking. "Weird. You all don't usually have names before hand. But, then again, usually you all have fangs and stuff. Do you have fangs?"

Her words came out like a flood.

"No..." I said slowly.

Her eyes narrowed, like she didn't really believe me. "They also usually try to kill me," she added thoughtfully. "Will you try to kill me?"

"Probably not?"

"Curious, very curious," she said, like that Olivander guy from Harry Potter. "Because you all usually try to kill me."

There was this really awkward silence. Or, it was awkward on my side. She seemed quite content to stand with her head pressed against the side of her room. I cleared my throat. "And when you say 'you all,' that applies to who, exactly?"

She waved her fingers dismissively. "The monsters." She sighed. "I know they aren't real. Like you aren't real. But they're scary."

"You think I'm scary?" So far, between the two of us, I was the one who should be worried the other was going to pull out a knife and stab me in the eye socket or something. Because that seemed to be the direction this conversation was going.

It was only then she stopped trying to osmosis the wall or whatever and look at me. And when she looked, it was more of a stare. "Yep."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Because seeing things that aren't there are scary."

I blinked. "I'm not here..."

"And that also means they'll have to give me more medication." She shuddered. "I don't like medication. It makes the dreams worse."

..."Dreams?"

But she ignored me and just checked her watch. I don't know why she had a watch, because no one uses those any more unless they're old. The person. Not the watch.

"The man will be coming soon," she said, and this time she didn't just frown. She literally pouted. Like, with a lower lip and everything.

"Man?" I asked, and my voice cracked embarrassingly.

Then I heard someone walk up to the door and put their hand on the knob, and I did a major dive under the weird girls bed. Which is probably not the best thing to do, considering that she was a potential serial killer and there might be dead bodies under there or something.

So, just for future reference, always check hiding spots for rotting corpses. Or else you'll be really miserable.

Luckily, she hid her bodies somewhere other than under her bed, because the only company I had was a deranged looking stuffed bunny and an impressive stash of fruit snacks and Coca-Cola.

Unfortunately for me and the bunny, the only view we had of the proceedings was from the ankle, up. Which would have been really helpful if I felt the need to inspect the girl's bare feet and some guys fake-Italian dress shoes.

As it was, I was more or less unsatisfied.

And never trust a man with fake-Italian shoes. Also for future reference. Feel free to make a list of my tips on How to Hide and be Paranoid.

"Miss Pfeiffer," said the man who walked in formally. Something in his hand rattled, but I couldn't see what it was. Needless to say, Mr. Bunny and I were displeased.

But the worse thing was the way "Miss Pfeiffer's" voice sounded. It was cold and icy, like the man had kicked her grandmother and tried to say he was doing her a favor. "Nice of you to stop by, Archie."

Archie sighed. "You should call me Dr. Cortese."

Doctor?

I saw the girl's feet walk towards him, away from the wall, but her steps were slow and wary, like a animal that was looking through it's animal handbook and wasn't sure whether it was allowed to get closer or not. "After I've been here seven years? How upsetting." Her voice was squeaky.

He must have tried to give her something, because she backed up quickly and said, "No. I'm not taking them."

Dr. Cortese sighed again. "We can't do this every day."

"Then stop giving them to me."

"It's for your own good, Alberta."

Alberta? Alberta Pfeiffer.

I smothered a snicker.

Not quite well enough, though, because the doctor stopped in the middle of what he was saying and said nothing for a minute. "What was that?"

"What was what?" asked Alberta (Alberta! Priceless.).

"That sound. From the bed." For a scary second, I thought the man would look under and find me chillin' with the rabbit and the fruit snacks, but someone else entered the room before he could.

Specifically, three someone elses.

"Why, hello, Alberta!" someone said brightly.

She didn't say anything. Maybe she was too busy laughing at the fact that her name was Alberta.

Whoever had spoken first looked at the doctor. "Is there a problem?"

Dr. Cortese shook his head. Or I assume he did. "I can handle it," he said. "She just won't take the medication."

Medication. Again with the meds. Did this girl have cancer or something? Or was she certifiably crazy? I scooted up towards them under the bed as much as I dared to get a better view.

I couldn't see any of their faces (except for Alberta's, because she was shortest), but now I could see what Dr. Cortese had been rattling before. He had a little cup filled with pills. Like, five or six of them. He also had a clipboard, and a t-shirt that said _Aberton's Psychiatric Unit_ in big letters.

As in, like, a nuthouse. For those of us who aren't politically correct. I wasn't in a boarding school. I was in a crazycave.

Gods.

She really was crazy.

She really didn't think I was real.

Then I looked over at the semi-new arrivals. The first man, at the front, was completely average in build. But the two guys behind him were built like brick houses. If brick houses had enough hair to make a shag carpet.

Monsters.

Forget a seven of the Suck Scale. This was like a nine.

And until the very heavens split and rained down dead cows and mucus, I don't think it could have gotten any worse.

"Alberta, you should do what we tell you," said the man with the monsters on either side of him.

"I think I know more about what's going on with my own head than you do," she told him, but her voice had lost it's edge and cracked a bit.

"If you don't take the medicine, the dreams will continue," he told her, like she was a child.

Which, I mean, she was. But he could have at least lost the tone.

I hate tone.

Her voice solidified, and I would have known she was crazy just from all of the changes in her moods from the past, like, two minutes. "The dreams are gone."

From the silence that followed, it was clear he didn't believe her. "And what about the hallucinations?"

"There are none." Which was rich, since she thought she had a hallucination hiding under her bed right at the moment.

"Then why are you still afraid of Mr. Ross and Dr. Ulric?" asked Dr. Cortese desperately.

She sniffed. "They're intimidating," she said, but her voice was weak.

Alberta was afraid of the monster-men.

Was she afraid of them because they were monsters or because they could break her in half like a toothpick by flexing their biceps in her near vicinity?

The man who was with them sighed. It seemed like a lot of sighing went on in that room. "You're a paranoid schizophrenic, Alberta. And with your dreams..."

"What dreams?" she said.

"What dreams, indeed," he sniffed.

Dr. Cortese handed her the cup of pills again. She was focused on the other man's face, like a challenge. But her eyes were so big she just looked really freaked out. The doctor put it in her hand. "If you don't take before we bring in your dinner, we'll have to force your hand."

"Understood." When she nodded, the long strands of hair in front of her face bobbed up and down.

Then all of the others left. Except for one of the two identical monsters. He hung back and stared her down.

Or, again, I think he did, because Alberta did her best to stare him down. But then she seemed to crumble and she looked down at the floor. He laughed darkly and left. The door shut and clicked as it was locked.

Locked.

I was locked in.

Alberta was possibly a demigod.

My only companion who was sane was a raggedy stuffed bunny rabbit.

I watched as Alberta shook the cup once, picked out the blue pill, and took the rest with a drink from the water bottle on her bed stand.

I climbed out, bones creaking, and stared out the window to see if there were any dead cows on the lawn.

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	2. Real Boys and Alberta Pfeiffer

**Hey! Whatsup?**

**I'll tell you what's up.**

**I'm grounded. Sigh. So this is the last thing you'll get for a bit. It doesn't matter since I update so irregularly anyway...**

**But I thought I'd leave you with some awesome to remember me by.**

**Also, thanks to Calliope Muse, Athena Goddess of the Wise, Markf50, skitzophraniac (did I get the right? I don't think so...haha), and that little anon who was a little too shy for reviewing. ;P**

It didn't sound like her medicine went down the right way. She spent a good minute and a half trying to stop coughing enough to take another drink of her water.

In a normal situation, this might have evoked what some might call, quote unquote, "sympathy." I, however, have a soul full of ice, rock, and festering hatred, and I don't feel this emotion.

Also, I was kind of under a lot of pressure. Normally, I try to leave all of that gross thinking stuff to Annabeth (we all know Percy is hopeless). Trying to understand everything was giving my underused brain a headache.

So instead of, like, offering my condolences over her dying lungs, I just cracked and told her to be quiet.

Which was, yes, rude.

I'm the King of Ghosts. Rudeness comes with the territory.

But the fact that the only people who listen to me are dead kind of evens things out in the end, I guess.

Alberta didn't seem offended. Or, if she was, she was too busy tearing up for me to notice. But eventually, she looked over at me, with the side of my face pressed against the cool glass of her window.

[Which was too small to squeeze through. So all it was good for was cooling off my face and checking for dead cows (aka, The Splitting of Heaven).]

"Why did you go under the bed?" she asked after a while of staring at me.

"What?"

She cleared her throat. "Why did you hide if no one can see you but me?" she clarified, uncertain.

Face palm. "People can see me."

"Crazy people?" Like I was some universal delusion. A friend to the clinically insane everywhere!

Gods, somebody put that on my business card.

I threw my hands in the air. "No. Well, I guess they can see me. But normal people, too. I'm real. You didn't make me up." I said everything in a hissed whisper, because I was worried that if I wasn't careful my frustration would lead me to shout and that might bring the doctors back.

Alberta looked at me funny again. "I don't think I could," she told me. Obviously, she wasn't quite creative enough to come up with someone as charming as myself. But she still wasn't sure. "Prove it."

"Why should I have to?" I snapped.

Her eyes, if at all possible, got even bigger, and her eyebrows went into her hairline. "Either you aren't real and I just imagined you, or you are real," she said, slowly, twisting a short piece of hair around her finger.

My oath not to shout nearly broke. "Why, yes. That sounds about right."

"You're a real boy," she continued, but she said it like Pinocchio and I had trouble taking her seriously. "And you're not supposed to be here, and you're in my bedroom, and you're scary, and you might take advantage of a poor crazy girl, no to mention steal all of my fruit snacks, which I just will not stand for."

I grimaced. "Well..."

"So..."

"Where do we go from here?"

She thought for a moment, putting her hair on her upper lip like a mustache. "You could start by getting me a Coke and saving my bunny."

Then she just lay facedown on the carpet.

"Um..."

And since there was nowhere for this conversation to go, I did as I was told.

She snapped open the tab, and the pop made me jump. I'd been expecting her to try to eat the whole can or something. Since she was crazy and all.

But my jumpiness just amused her. "And _I'm_ the paranoid schizophrenic." She rolled her eyes. This girl's personality was all over the place.

I frowned. "_I'm at the mercy_ of a paranoid schizophrenic. Forgive me for being worried about you eating me or something." Add that to the list of Not Fun Things That Could Potentially Happen.

"Well, I'm almost certain that cannibalism is not a side-effect of going crazy. Unless I imagine you as, like, a really delicious piece of pie." She took a drink of soda and burped. "But my hallucinations generally consist of hairy, angry, homicidal things. And furry pie does not sound at all appealing."

I guess you can't say that crazy-people aren't interesting conversationalists. "Tell me about your hallucinations."

"You just committed a crazy-people etiquette flub," she said with a frown. "That is a very personal question."

"Fine." I tried to think of something else. "Favorite dessert."

"Trifle."

And of course, I have no idea what this is, but I'm pretty sure it's some sort of mushroom and that doesn't sound right at all.

But before I can open my mouth and say something that sounded smart, she said, "And I was kidding about your etiquette flub. I mean, I'm insulted at your rudeness and stuff, but since I'm still not sure that you're real, I'm more than happy to tell you all about what you already know, since your just a figment of my imagination and your ignorance is completely faked."

I feel like a lot of Alberta's life is one run-on sentence. "My ignorance is perfectly legitimate, thank you."

A lot of her life also consisted of ignoring me. "So, if you want to know about the crazy part of my life, you need to know everything."

"Yes, Alberta Pfeiffer. Tell me your fascinating life's story. I want to know all about exactly how you got that fantastic name." #sarcasm.

She looked at the floor, and I thought I'd managed to properly insult her, but then the moment had passed and she looked up at me. "How exactly did your parents instill in you the art of being so rude?" she sniffed.

"It was more of a whole family affair," I said truthfully.

Then she waved her hand dismissively. "Forget you. I haven't talked to anyone in three weeks except for Archie, that creepy Dr. Franz, and his lackeys. So, by Jove, I'm going to talk until you go deaf. Got it?"

I sat back and prepared myself for story time.

"So, I was a baby, and I was all adorable and everything, but my dad died before I was born, and my mom wanted away with me, right?"

I nodded. Right.

"So, I got shoved into this fancy little orphanage in California. Like, left in a basket, two weeks old kind of thing. I don't have a name, or a birth certificate, or anything. So one of those rich ladies thought it would be an excellent idea to name me after a woman who would have been 102 if she hadn't had a little dance with osteosarcoma."

"Poor Alberta," I said, but I wasn't sure if I meant the dead one or the rambling, insane one.

The rambling, insane one nodded nonetheless. "Exactly. So I guess you could say I was screwed over from the start, with the name of a woman who had an awful name."

We've already discussed my lack of education in the English language, but I'm pretty sure that English teachers everywhere just got a chill from how poorly that sentence was put. But, I'm not an English teacher, so I just said, "Alright," and got myself a can of soda.

"Anyway, when I was...three?" she asked, like I would know. "Three. When I was three, I kept seeing all of these things. Like, dogs from Hell and some guy with six arms, and a woman with snakes for legs, and this bald guy who had no teeth turned into a bat-ish thing on the bus. For another, like, three or four years, it was fine. Except then they started to try and kill me and stuff."

I had a feeling I knew the rest of this story.

"But no one else ever saw them, right? And the woman who named me (her name was Phyllis Hinkle, and she was like, a million years old) was all like, 'Hey, Alberta, stop making things up!' and I was like, 'But, Phyllis Hinkle! I'm not making things up!" and she was like, 'Well, then you're crazy,' and then she sent me up to New York, and now I'm here, and now they give me lots of pills that make my brain feel all fuzzy."

And, after all of that, the only thing I can think to say is, "Thank the gods she didn't name you after herself."

Alberta sat there for a second, like she was registering what I'd said. Then she hiccupped, but I think that it was a laugh. "And the dreams?" I asked after a minute.

The hiccup/laugh died. She looked green. "I don't want to talk about the dreams," she said finally.

"That bad?"

Alberta grinned. "Terrible." She stared at the blue pill she'd left in the cup. "It's supposed to help them," she confided, flicking the plastic. "It just makes them worse."

Well, there would be enough time for that later. I stood up and downed the rest of my soda. "Time to go."

She waved up at me, still sitting on the floor. "Have fun making it out without a scene."

I grabbed her raised hand and pulled her up after me. "You're coming with me."

"What?"

"You're coming with me whether you like it or not."

That might not have sounded the best, because she ripped her hand out of my grasp and stumbled back. "Rather not, actually."

"Look," I told her. "I'm in a tough spot right now."

"Um..."

"Because you are quite obviously a demigod, but you're also potentially crazy, and I need to get out of here."

"Uh..."

"And I can't just leave you here, can I?"

"I'm confused."

"Me, too. Let's go."

The problem with the locked door was insignificant compared to the problem of subtly smuggling a patient out of mental hospital. Mostly because I could just kick the door down and I could not, unfortunately, kick Alberta.

Well, I could.

But it would not make that problem any less of a problem.

Before I resolved the first problem, I got my sword back. Being a son of Hades had multiple perks. One of which is that it gives me a giant, traveling backpack that I don't have to constantly carry around with me.

As you can imagine, that is incredibly helpful when trying to hide the evil-looking sword I carry around.

Alberta's eyes got wide when I took it out, which is understandable, since I was in the process of kidnapping her. But it also reminded me that she was unarmed. So I dug around a little more, grabbed a crossbow, and tossed it to her.

Instead of catching it, like a normal person, she ducked under it and it sailed across the room. It hit the wall with a thud.

A loud thud.

And, yes, there was a dent in the wall.

"Why didn't you catch it?" I scolded.

"What if it exploded?"

"For gods sake, woman! It's a crossbow, not a stick of dynamite!"

She picked it up gingerly and inspected it. "How am I supposed to use this?"

I would have given her a detailed explanation had I not been totally freaked that someone had heard the noise. So I just handed her a bag of crossbow bolts and said, "You'll figure it out."

"But what do I need it for?" Alberta demanded, poking the tip of a bolt with her finger. When her hand didn't pass through the bronze, I took that as further indication that I was right.

"To kill things." Which was also not the best thing to say.

"People?"

"Nope. Monsters."

"Gross," she said finally. But she slung the bag over her shoulder, shoved the rest of her Coca-Cola supply and the scruffy bunny in one of the crevices, and nodded towards the door. "Onward, and stuff."

Which prompted the kicking down of the door.

Which prompted the doctors to come from around the corner.

Which prompted Ugly Monster #1 and Ugly Monster #2 to charge us.

Which, in turn, prompted us to RUN THE HECK AWAY.

And, to be honest, we did a pretty poor job of it.

"So..." said Alberta, heaving. "I know I'm running and screaming and things, but that's kind of a wimpy thing for you to do."

"I'm not screaming," I told her. "I'm way too manly for that." (I actually was, but that is beside the point.)

She looked at me incredulously. "What-_ever_." Then she started to pull me along behind. "We can hide in the cafeteria."

"It's three in the afternoon. Nobody will be there!" I shouted at her.

Needless to say, she did not listen.

And that is how we ended up hiding from bloodthirsty monsters behind a bunch of stacked lunch tables. There was gum on the bottom. It was unpleasant.

Alberta flinched as the doors opened with a slam. She held the crossbow to her chest like it was a life preserver, and among my other worries I was nervous she would accidentally shoot herself.

"Alberta?" asked Dr. Cortese nervously. "Are you here?"

The average man walked in after him. "Well, of course she is," he snapped. "I can't believe you let her escape."

"Dr. Franz, this happens all the time," said Dr. Cortese. "I don't understand why you all are so worked up. She won't get out."

It sounded like a prison, even though I doubt that's how he meant it.

"Mr. Ross. Dr. Ulric," the other man beckoned.

There were heavy steps, and my Spidey Senses were tingling, so I had a pretty good feeling they were the monsters we'd seen. Alberta hunched down further beside me, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

"Ms. Pfeiffer," Dr. Franz called. "We know your here. You don't want me to send Ross and Ulric after you, do you?"

Her jaw clenched. Through the gaps in the tables, I could see Dr. Cortese grow pale. "You shouldn't use her delusions against her, sir."

The doctor ignored him. "Alberta?" he called again. "Alberta. Come out. Alberta."

"Jesus, _I HATE THAT NAME!_" she screamed, popping out from the table. Before any of us even knew what was going on, she aimed the crossbow and fired.

There was a pause before Mr. Ross crumpled into dust.

"Nico?" she said.

"Yeah?" I replied, eyes wide.

"I figured it out."

"Remind me not to call you Alberta."

Dr. Cortese stared at where the man had been, completely and totally confused. But Dr. Franz just looked ridiculously angry. Like he saw men completely disintegrate every day of his miserable life. "Alb...hey, does Dr. Franz run this place?"

"Yes," she answered. "Why?"

"I'll tell you later..."

"Who is there?" demanded the doctor. The Potential Monster one. Not the Freaked Out one. Evidently, they hadn't seen me yet.

So I popped my handsome little head out from my hiding place and said, "Yo."

Which was not what he wanted to hear.

"Dr. Ulric?" he called behind him. "I want that boy in my custody. And don't let the girl escape."

Okay. Yeah. Bad guy alert.

I looked up at my troubled companion. "Hey, Alb..." I stopped. "What should I call you?"

She thought for a minute. Then she stuck out her hand. "I'm Alby."

I shook it. "Nico. Nice to meet you. Now..." I looked behind me. "See that window?"

"Yes."

"Care to jump?"

Newly christened Alby looked at it uncertainly, then she looked almost excited. "I'm crazy anyway. So why the heck not."

**Did you like it? Cause I did. ;)**

**More reminders:**

**It was recently my birthday.**

**We just had a winter guard competition where a man from Toddlers & Tiaras said that I was beautiful in my solo (THATS A WIN).**

**Also, that review button likes to be pressed. It gets lonely otherwise. **


	3. How Not To Jump From High Places

**So, I'm not OFFICIALLY ungrounded. But I _am_ back! For now.**

**I know. It's been a long time. You probably hate me.**

**Which is why I decided to get ahead and leave you with a really amazingly frustrating cliffhanger.**

**You're welcome.**

I think the crazy was rubbing off on me. I really do.

I think I had, like, a psychotic break.

Normal people think about jumping out of windows? It's generally to finish something. Unless you're Sherlock Holmes, there are very few times when jumping out of a window is done to save a persons life.

And, when life-saving is the task at hand, normal people don't give the job of getting it (as in, the window) open to a girl who is on a soda-induced sugar high (as in, Alby) while they (as in, moi) wave a big sword at a man with more hair on his face than that guy off of _The Adam's Family_.

And they certainly don't say "Yo" in greeting. That is not the circumstance where the word "Yo" is used. You only say "Yo" when you aren't about to die. It's an unspoken rule.

Dr. Franz (the Evil One) looked unfazed by my breach of social etiquette. "You're a demigod?"

I bowed, careful not to stab myself in the spleen, which I think I managed pretty well. "At your service."

He sighed. Disappointed, maybe. Don't know why. I am the epitome of the Awesome Trouble-Making Hero. I don't know what else he might look for in a pesky demigod, but gods, I'm pretty fantastic as far as trouble-making goes.

"I suppose it had to happen sometime," he said, his eyes flicking behind me to Alby, who was trying to unlock the window with the tip of a crossbow bolt. That endeavor was destined to fail. "The Fates don't like to leave anyone alone for too long."

Before I could, like, empathize, maybe even bond over our mutual displeasure with manipulative old women, he waved his hand lazily and sent the other monster man at me.

So much for bonding.

Dr. Ulric was big, but slow. The problem wasn't finishing him.

The problem was finishing him in a timely manner, before Franz could call in backups or something.

Which he did.

"Nico?"

"Yes, Alby?"

"Need help?"

"That'd be nice."

She abandoned her fruitless attempts at getting the window open and loaded the bolt she'd been using, took aim, and fired.

And that would have been totally okay if I hadn't been, you know, fighting for my life at the moment. As it was, the projectile whizzed past my ear like a drunken bumblebee and embedded itself in the wall by the lunch tray return window, doing nothing helpful whatsoever. "Hey!"  
>"Oops." She aimed again. "Hold still."<p>

"_You _hold still!" I screamed angrily.

I heard the snap as another bolt flew. I felt the thump through the monsters body as it hit. It wasn't as good a shot as her one at Ross, but it certainly made the guy stop. Which was when I took advantage and chopped off his head. The head, a spoil of war, rolled off onto the tiled floor. I really hope no one ever keeps those. It's got to be hard to hide. How many pregnant women on the streets are just demigods with spare monster heads?

Disintegrating monster got all up in my eyes, and I was well and truly disgusted for the two seconds I had before some guy swung a sword at my head.

It was more luck than any true skill that kept my head from flying away to join Dr. Ulric's, considering I just sort of flailed my arm up his direction. My sword quite conveniently stopped his. "You've got demigods after us, too?" I asked the doctor incredulously. Overkill much.

The demigod was built about like Ross and Ulric, but without the fur. Which is to say, the man was massive. He also had a friendly looking scar all across his face. Who the heck cleared this guy to work with children! He probably gave them nightmares.

He was also, unfortunately, good with a sword.

But, hey. So was I. Comes with the territory of being, you know, amazing.

I thought it was ironic that, out of the two of us, my sword was the one that should have belonged to the bad guy. Although, I guess I might be considered a bad guy by some people.

Like Ulric, who was staring at me from the tiles.

He got his revenge though. I don't usually have to maneuver around fallen limbs. That's just not a normal thing. So, of course, I tripped over his head and fell heroically on my tailbone.

Which hurt. But mostly the shock that I just tripped over a dismembered head overrode the pain.

The prospect of getting skewered by a rogue demigod was a good painkiller, too.

And, because no one can say I'm not resourceful, I rolled away and reached into the pile of monster ashes.

I'm not sure what the guy had been expecting when he came over, but getting a slightly-used crossbow bolt in the foot was probably not it.

As he howled, I scrambled over to where my sword had fallen. It wasn't exactly a mortal wound or anything. Most likely, he wanted to shove his oversized sword through my kidney more than ever.

So I wasn't all that surprised when he charged.

I cursed. He lunged, I parried. He swung, I blocked. He fought, and I got the crap kicked out of me. I couldn't get my momentum back after falling to the floor.

This is when, being that aforementioned resourceful guy, I did a stupid thing. "Get back!" I shouted at Alby, and she scrambled away from the wall. Specifically, away from the window.

Then, when Mr. Angrypants charged again, I didn't bother trying to block. I didn't even have my sword out anymore. I gave the guy what he probably thought was a really badly timed hug around the waist.

That's about when I threw him backwards out of the window.

Alby stared at the newly shattered glass in disbelief. "You just threw a man out of a window," she said in horror. Because it wasn't obvious.

Well, of course I threw him out the window! Geez. Women.

But all I said was, "It worked, didn't it?"

Alby took the breath to reply, but the doctor Cortese beat her to it.

"You just threw a man out of the window!" he exclaimed.

"Yes!" I screamed at him. "We've confirmed that I, Nico di Angelo, just threw a man out of the window. Let's all ignore the fact that he was trying to kill me and just act like I did it in a sporadic act of aggression. Please and thank you."

My crazy companion blinked at me. "You're an angry little man, aren't you?"

"And you're insane, so don't talk."

"Did I hear correctly?" asked the Dr. Franz. "Did you call yourself Nico di Angelo?"

I bowed stiffly. "The one and only."

He grinned. "Come to steal my prize from me, have you? I suppose that centaur sent you for me."

Awkwardly, I glanced back at Ably. _Prize?_ I mouthed. She shrugged helplessly.

But then she frowned and said aloud, "Who are you?" and I didn't know what to tell her.

"To be honest, I was sort of hoping it would be that Percy fellow who found us out," said the doctor. I stared at him unintelligently. "I wanted to go against the best."

"I am the best," I said with a grin. "As far as dealing with dead things goes."

"Not really what I had in mind," he admitted. "Although you're certainly interesting. It's a good thing I took precautions." He looked out of the window. I wondered if the swordsman was dead or just kind of almost dead. Franz didn't look like he cared. Alby and held up her cross-bow, like she was silently asking, "Can I shoot him and be done with it?"

To this moment, I'm not sure why we didn't.

She was suddenly right behind me. "If we jump, we end up like that guy," she said, meaning the demigod I had used to clear the way (still feel a bit guilty about that.) "It's too high."

But something the doctor said bothered me. "Precautions?" I asked. "Does that mean that when I step a foot on the lawn I'll get eaten piranhas, or something more creative?"

Then he laughed. I could only assume it was at me.

"You, the best?" he asked. I bristled.

"I don't like you," I informed him.

"Have you even tried to shadow travel, yet?"

I took a deep breath to properly tell him that, yes, I had. First thing. It would be like trying to get out of a room without checking if the door was locked. Only stupider.

But I didn't want to lie, so I kept my mouth shut.

Luckily, he kept talking, so I only kind of looked like an idiot. "Demigod powers are null and void within these walls. And on the grounds. We had to have something similar to keep Miss Alberta tame, but we decided to beef it up recently, to prevent any...unpleasant surprises."

"You keep using that word," said Alby, her eyes as big as plates. But I couldn't tell if she was afraid or if that's just how they normally were. "'Demigod.' What does it mean?"

I frowned. "Tell you later."

Franz sighed. "I hate to disappoint you, my young friend. But no, you won't." He grinned. And his teeth were like fangs.

Alby's fist tightened around my forearm. She whimpered. "Why won't the monsters go away?" she whispered.

"They do," I told her. "You just have to stab them with something pointy first."

But she was already backing up towards the wall. I had no choice but to back up with her. "Alby, we're fine," I told her.

"No, we're not," she said shakily. "This is like the dreams."

I hate dreams.

"I don't want to die again, Nico."

There's not much a person can say to that. "Then try not to."

"I want to choose this time."

Which was really kind of ominous, but I was thinking about other things right about then.

"Dr. Franz?" she called. Her voice was high-pitched with tension.

He smiled. "Yes?"

Her back was to the window. "Goodbye." And then she pulled on my arm and we both toppled out of the giant whole.

Percy once told me what it was like to fall off of the Great Arch in St. Louis. He said that he couldn't think clearly. His life didn't flash before his eyes or anything. I mean, he was twelve, I'm sure there wasn't much to see. He could just remember screaming (probably like a little girl) and that he flailed around quite a bit.

But when _I_ fell, all I could think was how I was going to _kill _this stupid girl.

Alby still had her hand clamped on my arm, even as the ground grew to encompass my entire line of sight. I wondered if she was worried, or having second thoughts about jumping to her death. Or about making _me_ jump to my death. I decided I would haunt her in the Underworld. Maybe boil her in fondue for all eternity.

The edges of my vision faded to black. I felt Alby's hand release me. Fat lot of good it did me now. I didn't feel the impact. It was almost like I fell into a sea of hard air. I was glad. I'd always imagined hitting asphalt from three stories up to feel like a really intense belly flop.

But then everything went dark, and I was dead.

**REVIEW OR THE AMAZING MAN DOESN'T RETURN!**


	4. In Which We Hit and Run

**Okay. Yes. I'm terrible. I acknowledge that I am a terrible, terrible person. Procrastinator. And lazy. It's been a while.**

**BUT I WROTE YOU THIS CHAPTER FOR FORGIVENESS.**

**Please forgive me...**

"Nico?"

Gods. I was incredibly uncomfortable. I couldn't see. My body wouldn't move. I could hear, but everything sounded like an incessant roaring, like everything was muffled. The voice wasn't familiar. I didn't remember what happened. I felt like I'd been packed in a really small box, folding in half and pummeled to fit.

"Are you awake?"

No.

"Nico?"

I'm tired, leave me alone.

I heard a dull slap. And then I felt the sting in my face.

And then I felt everything.

It was like when you're just falling to sleep, and then you feel like you're falling, so you're kind of slammed into consciousness rather rudely. It's not pleasant.

I was outside. It was still bright. I could feel the unforgiving sun on my face. And, oddly enough, I was running. And someone was with me. Alby. I was running with Alby.

How? Because I was pretty sure I was dead.

I'm dead.

I noticed this in about a millisecond. Then, my body decided to stop running and I crumpled onto the ground.

"Nico!" Alby screeched, which didn't help my pounding headache.

"Gods, woman!" I shouted, rolling over so I didn't have to mumble at her through the forest growth. I spat leaves out of my mouth.

She shrank back. And I felt guilty for a second. And then I remembered something else.

I bolted upright. "You killed me," I said incredulously.

Alby blinked. "Well, technically, you're alive."

"You pulled me out of a window."

She squirmed. "Well—"

"Yes?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of?" I repeated. "How do you 'sort of' pull a person out of a window?"

She didn't say anything.

"You did. You totally killed me." I jumped to feet. Or tried to. My head throbbed and it felt like the ground was moving, so I quickly decided that standing was not in my immediate future. "You killed me! After everything I've done for you!"

She frowned. "Like breaking into my room?"

"I proved that you weren't crazy."

"Right," she said dubiously. "And was that before or after you set the monsters on us?"

"Before, because they monsters didn't come until after _I broke us out of a mental institution,_" I said pointedly.

"No, you got us stuck in a cafeteria," she corrected. "I got us out."

"Yeah. By throwing me out of a window! Which pretty much brings us full-circle."

Here, she had the grace to look embarrassed. "I thought you took it rather well, actually."

"Because I was dead!"

Alby just looked confused.

"Speaking of being dead, how am I not dead?" I inquired, because it had taken my frazzled brain a minute or two to zero in on the weirdest thing about this. "I died."

"No..." She scratched her neck. "You fell. And then you fainted."

"Men don't faint."

"Then you did a really good impression of a fainting woman."

"Don't insult me after you pushed me out of a window!"

She held up her hands in surrender. "We're okay. It doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter that I should be splattered all of the walls and I'm not?" I asked, incredulous. "Because it matters to me. Quite a bit, actually. I find my new-found invulnerability fascinating."

Alby shrugged helplessly. "I don't know! I'm crazy! For all I know, you _are_ splattered all over the walls and I'm talking to no one right now."

"You're not crazy."

"Says you."

I sighed. This conversation was getting us nowhere. "Okay. It doesn't matter that I didn't die..." It did, but we'd pick that topic later. "How was I running and unconscious at the same time?"

"Running?"

"Yes," I said impatiently. "I distinctly remember running before waking up and falling on my face in the middle of the woods, which is not where we were before. So don't pull the whole _I'm an innocent nutcase, believe me when I'm lying to you_ thing. It won't work."

She looked almost guilty. "Sorry."

I stood there expectantly.

She blinked rapidly, thinking. "I woke up in a heap on the ground, and I don't know how long we were there, but long enough, and I knew the doctors would be coming for us, and I looked over at you, and said 'Hurry, we gotta run,' and you just got up and started running, and I didn't know you were unconscious for like, seven whole minutes, because I kept talking and you didn't say anything (although you might just normally be like that) and by that point I was really tired, so I didn't care. And we should keep running?"

She was talking so fast I didn't really notice the question at the end. "Yes."

"Where should we run? Iowa? No one will find us in Iowa."

"Let's not go to Iowa." My head still hurt (whether from the excessive talking or the almost death, I'll never know). I got up off of the ground with a groan. There were still a few drachmas in my pocket. "If we can get to a road or a parking lot or whatever, I can get us a ride."

"Mrs. Hinkle said that hitchhiking was bad," said Alby.

I looked at her incredulously. "You just threw me out of a window and watched me kill a man, not necessarily in that order, and you're concerned about hitchhiking?"

I don't Alby understood the sarcasm, because she just looked at me like she was waiting for me to make a point. I waved her away dismissively. "We won't hitchhike."

Just then, a sound came from the trees around us. It was either a monster or the King of All Squirrels. Either way, I'm sure the thing was terrifying. "We should run?" asked Alby.

"Yes. Yes, we should."

I didn't think I'd be able to move very fast, what with the nearly dying and all that. I looked at Alby. "Do you still have the crossbow?"

She looked guiltily at the ground. "It died."

With a sigh, I gave her my dagger. "Well, at least that makes sense."

Alby took it, holding it with two fingers by the tip like I had handed her a slightly used tissue and told her to make origami. "What do I do with this?" she asked, her face scrunched up in distaste.

"Well, first off, you don't hold it like that," I tell her flatly, taking it back and giving her the handle. "Secondly...you know monsters?"

"Yes!" she said, nodding enthusiastically. "I know those!"

"When you see one, stab them."

"Like this?" she said, lunging forward clumsily, simultaneously almost falling over and skewering me in the thigh.

"No!" I shouted, fearing for my life. "Not like that at all." I waited for her to regain her balance (which took a long time, as you can imagine) and started to tell her how to use a knife in greater depth.

But then there was all this shouting behind us and I thought it might be better to continue this discussion when we weren't on the run from a ton of mental wards. "Come on," I whispered, pulling her along.

I have no idea how this girl kept running while I was unconscious without help, because she had the worst sense of balance I'd ever seen in a person with both legs. It wasn't that she was clumsy. But she just randomly stumbled over nothing. It was all sorts of ridiculous.

Eventually, I was irritated enough to shout, "Look, if you keep falling over—"

But she cut me off. "You said you needed a parking lot?" she asked arbitrarily.

"Yesssssss...?"

She pointed up ahead. "Parking lot."

"Oh, sweet asphalt," I mumbled. Alby just blinked, so I continued to pull along with renewed gusto. "You are useless," I told her. Then I added, "Except for when it comes to throwing handsome young demigods out of windows."

Alby just raised her eyebrows doubtfully, like, "Yeah. Handsome. Sure."

Hitting the asphalt at a run was a shock. The soft ground in the woods was a lot better on my legs, and a lot more forgiving. My knees almost buckled, and I nearly pulled an Alby and faceplanted in a parking space.

She clawed at my t-shirt, doing more harm than help while she tried to get me back on my feet, and I had to wiggle away from her before she stabbed me in the eye socket with the dagger she kept holding.

Something roared behind us.

Before I could even comprehend what was happening, Alby pushed me back to the ground and lunged forward.

It wasn't clumsy, like the last time. It was smooth, like she'd been practicing the motion since birth. And it was accurate. When I managed to overcome my embarrassment at being pushed over like a rag doll and look up, Alby's knife was firmly buried in the chest of a rather shocked monster.

Using her foot, she pulled out the blade and kicked him away as he crumbled into nothing.

When she looked over at me again, her chin was trembling and her eyes were as big as saucers. The knife clattered to the ground. "I...I don't understand." She wiped her sweaty hands on her hideous, oversized sweater. She was a sickly pale under her tan skin and her forehead shone with sweat.

I stood up slowly, looking at her warily. She was shaking. I picked up the dagger and tried to hand it to her, but she shook her head vehemently, taking a few stumbling steps backwards, like it had rabies.

Unfortunately, I didn't have time to deal with Crazy Alby. The noises from the woods were getting closer. I stuffed the dagger through my belt and fished a drachma out of my pocket. "_Stethi, O harma diaboles!_" I shouted, probably louder than I needed to. But hey, I was under a lot of pressure.

As I threw the drachma onto the closest parking space, Alby looked at me, terrified. "That was another language," she said weakly.

"Yep."

"And I understood it."

"What did I say?"

Her lower lip is trembling, like she's about to cry. "'Stop, Chariot of Damnation...'"

"Excellent," I said with approval.

"It doesn't _sound_ excellent!" she shrieks accusingly, punching me in the chest angrily. Then she was too distracted by the noise of the people in the forest to worry about damnating chariots.

I, however, was staring at the ground desperately.

The coin had already sunken into the asphalt. Then there was a giant, budding pool of something red and unpleasant, bubbling and gurgling as it grew to fill the parking space. Then, slowly, like something from an awful zombie movie, a taxi erupted from the ooze.

That got Alby's attention. "What the—"

"In!" I shouted, opening the door and shoving her inside.

I slammed the door behind me.

One of the Gray Sisters turned around slowly. The other two, all shoved into the front seat, bickered loudly. "Passage? Pass—"

"To Camp Half-blood, woman!" I practically screamed.

"You don't have any eyes!" Alby actually screamed.

"Nope!" she cackled. "Speaking of which..." she then slapped her sister on the back of the head. There was a sickening pop and an eyeball flew out of her face, hitting the windshield and leaving a slimy mark on the glass.

"That's mine! It's my turn, Wasp!" shouted her sister as the driver popped the eye into her socket. "No!" she wailed, swatting madly in the driver's general direction.

"Oh, be quiet, Tempest."

"Camp Half-blood!" I shouted again as I saw about five heavily armed men and monsters emerge from the foliage.

"Payment?" asked Wasp.

"Upon arrival! Just go!"

"_You only have one eye!_" Alby wailed.

"Shut up, Alby! You're bothering me."

Wasp put the car in reverse to back out of the parking lot.

All of a sudden, Alby jumped forward, knocking the third sister out of her way. She changed gears to drive. "Forward!" she screamed, pointing to the warriors who were coming towards us.

"What—!" I started before Wasp floored it (still cackling) and I was thrown back into my headrest. I saw stars. Alby tumbled backwards on top of me.

Like a true man, I closed my eyes when we hit them.

And man, did we hit them.

We hit them so hard we didn't even stop. But the thump propelled us all forward again, and Alby ended up stuck on the floor between the backseat and the passenger's.

The taxi pulled to a lurching halt, and the sole survivor of the collision turned and ran back into the trees.

Alby looked green as I wrestled her out of her confinement between the chairs. "That was terrible," she said shakily, settling into the seat beside me.

"Yes," I agreed.

Wasp turned and looked at us. "I like you," she told Alby.

"But that will cost you extra," said Anger.

**Just so you know, yes, I used the word _damnating_ on purpose. Please don't review telling me I used the wrong word. Haha. BUT PLEASE REVIEW!**

**To keep me motivated and updating! And we need to keep my ego nice and big, or else I'll be crushed under self-worth issues. :)**


	5. Damnating Chariots

**Bah! My ego is a fragile thing. It eats reviews as sustenance.**

**And SEEEEEEEE? New chapter! Because I am so good!**

**I was gonna wait a bit longer, but I'm out of town this weekend. SISTER IS GETTING MARRIED. **

**Woot.**

**Thanks for reviewing! (Even though some of you threatened to stop and let my self-esteem wither and die...)**

**(I'm watching you. O.O)**

And this was how the truly heroic travel in New York: in the rundown taxi cab of a bunch of mythological beings with terrible depth perception, trying not to barf, and simultaneously trying to avoid being crushed by a weeping, screaming, insane girl who you met a few hours prior.

What? That wasn't in the epics?

I guess Hercules and Odysseus just weren't truly heroic.

Not like myself.

Because I was doing all of the above.

"Get _off_ me, Alby!" I screamed, pushing her back towards her side of the car.

"I HATE YOU, NICO DI ANGELO!" she shouted back, trying to keep herself from ramming into the roof as we hit a bump that may or may not have been a pedestrian. She had refused to put on the seatbelt (probably because it was a mass of chains) and was constantly being thrown side to side and up and down as the Gray Sisters swerved through traffic. "They can't even see! How do they drive?"

I took that as a rhetorical question and neglected to answer.

"Slow down!" Alby squealed at Anger as she nearly collided with a streetlight. Anger switched into the other lane, which was going to opposite direction. But hey, details don't matter.

I grabbed the back of her sweater and pulled her down into the seat to keep her from smacking into the headrest. "Stay!" I told her.

"Darn, I was really looking forward to FLYING AROUND A CAB."

"Then put the stupid seat belt on."

I might have gotten a sarcastic remark, but Alby went toppling back into the void between the front and backseats. Eventually, I think she just decided it was safer to stay there. She grabbed onto the hem of my muddy jeans. "Nico, who are these women, why does the driver only have one eye, and please, for the love of God, tell me why they came up out of the ground."

Her face was somehow both pale and slightly green, and her head slammed into the door at one point during a quick turn, but I was quite impressed she hadn't spewed fruit snacks and coke all over the lumpy gray leather. She was openly crying, but I'm not sure if that's because she had just run over four people or because she was afraid for her life.

"The answers, respectively," I said, taking a pause as we go over a bump to avoid biting my tongue off, "are: The Gray Sisters, I'm really not sure, and because that's just how it is."

Alby's face contorted, and I could tell that the answers were inadequate. But, while being a demigod requires a certain amount of research to avoid being disemboweled, it's not imperative for me to know exactly where the other five eyes went.

"The Gray Sisters?" she asked, grabbing hold of a cup holder to keep herself from bouncing around. "And they just drive people like you around haphazardly?" For emphasis, Wasp pulled on the steering wheel and drove over a mailbox with a whoop of enthusiasm.

"They're very wise?" I told her, repeating what Annabeth had told me, but I caught a glimpse of Tempest banging on the dashboard in euphoria and it came out as a question.

"Left!" shouted Anger. "Left, _left,_ LEFT!" She forcefully knocked her sister away and turned the car, bumping up onto the curve and giving some poor soul a love tap with the demonic taxi. Wasp slapped her hands away and regained control, and then Anger settled down and said, "Yes, quite wise!"

"They told Percy the coordinates of where Grover was being held captive before he even knew Grover was missing," I said as idly as I could while keeping my lunch down. Did I have lunch? Maybe it was breakfast.

Alby just gave me a confused, lost puppy kind of look, and I remembered that she had no idea what I was talking about. "They tell you stuff you need to know," I paraphrased with an embarrassed cough.

She worked to turn herself over on the floor, displacing a used lollipop wrapper and peering over the drivers seat. "What do I need to know?" she asked curiously, tears and imminent danger forgotten. Tempest grinned at her from the passenger's seat, showing one mossy green tooth, but Alby didn't even flinch. I guess that's the upside of growing up in a mental institution run by monsters.

Very little disturbs you.

"We can tell you lotto numbers!" offered Anger.

"Too young!" shouted Alby, being tossed from side to side as Wasp went up onto the sidewalk to avoid hitting a smartcar.

"Ah, I see!" agreed Anger, even though she was blind, and clearly, she could not see at all.

"What about the name of your husband?" asked Tempest.

"I'm not sure I'll live that long at this rate," she said beneath her breath as Wasp hit the gas with renewed vigor and she was thrown back into my lap.

Suddenly, Wasp snapped and threw her hands up in the air, which was rather dangerous, because she was driving. The wheel spun uncontrollably, and I leapt out of my seat to grab it just before we hit a building. Ably tumbled off of me, muttering apologies as she faceplanted into lumpy leather.

"I know!" Wasp said triumphantly.

"TAKE THE WHEEL!" I shouted in her ear.

"So pushy," she cackled, grabbing it from me. In the back, somehow, over the sounds of beeping horns and traffic from outside, I heard Alby singing _Jesus, Take the Wheel_ under her breath.

Wasp looked back at her sisters. "We can tell her where it is!"

"Where _what_ is?" I asked. Alby had rolled up into a ball, like that would keep her from bumping around. I got the funny imagine of an Alby shaped pinball.

"You know!" Tempest beseeched Alby, who was barely listening. "_It?_"

Alby looked up at her, bemused. Kind of shaking, too.

"She doesn't know!" screeched Anger. "Quiet!"

"I don't know what?" she asked, confused, eyes wide.

"It! You don't know about _it_!" cried Wasp. Spittle hit the windshield.

"What is it?" Alby mumbled, shrinking in on herself. Her eyes were huge.

I grabbed her shoulder, but she didn't react. "Stop yelling!" I yelled at them. Alby shook violently. "You're freaking her out," I added in a more normal tone of voice.

"But she doesn't know _it_!"

"Then tell her and be done with it."

But Tempest, Anger, and Wasp all shook their heads in unison. "Only the ghosts can tell," said Anger.

"Ghosts? That's my area of expertise."

"Ask the ghosts, Ghost King!" shouted Tempest gleefully. "Only the ghosts can tell!"

"But even the ghosts don't know!" shouted Wasp.

"How is that helpful?" I demanded. "That sounds completely _un_helpful!"

"We're wise, boy!" hooted Wasp as Anger shouted, "_Right_!"

"Wise and helpful are two completely different adjectives!" whooped Tempest. "Wise is better!"

"Tell us!"

"Nope!" shouted Wasp, covering her eye with her hand. "And you can't threaten me with a lost eyeball like the last time!"

"You demigods," agreed Anger. "All bullies."

"THE ROAD!" I screamed. "LOOK AT THE ROAD."

It was a few seconds before Wasp was secure enough in the safety of her eyeball to watch the traffic.

There is a cat in the road. I have never felt more compassion for a cat. I could practically see the whites of its eyes as the gray taxi came at it full throttle.

Suddenly, at the last second, Wasp jerked the car over a bit, and cat passed harmlessly between the tires. When I looked back, the cat was standing just as it had been, only slightly puffier. I think it was as shocked that it was alive as I was.

"See?" proclaimed Wasp. "Wise!"

"Wise sucks!" I yelled. What's wise about not killing a cat? Alby flailed a little in the seat, reaching out to undo the lock on the door. I pulled her back.

"I want out!" she shouted, her face green. Like, puke-ready green.

"How far?" I asked the drivers, holding Alby back.

"Here!" screeched Wasp, hitting the break with just as much gusto as she had hit the gas.

Alby bounced off of the front seat and was out of the door in a flash, spewing chucks as she went.

I started to get out, too, but Tempest wailed, "Payment!" and clawed blindly (no pun intended) at my shirt. I rifled around in my pockets, but I was a drachma short. I offered what I had.

"Nope!" said Tempest, biting the coins. "Need more."

"But that's all I have!" I insisted.

"Really, Nico?" someone said disapprovingly behind me, and I was pretty sure it wasn't Alby, who was doubled over a few feet away.

I looked out the window, trying to get a better look, but Tempest kept a firm grip on my t-shirt.

Someone in an orange shirt handed Tempest a drachma. Wow. That really narrowed it down. Who wore an orange shirt at camp...?

Face palm.

Whoever it was made to open my door, but Anger stopped them. "Extra!" she said excitedly.

"Extra? For what?" they demanded.

"For running over people!" said Wasp.

"Yeah! Killing is an extra fee!" Tempest agreed.

The camper sighed and dug out a few more coins. "Will this cover it?"

"Yes!" Tempest cried, biting them all contentedly with her rotten incisor.

My savoir opened the door, and Georgie looked in as I bolted out. "Goodness, Nico. What have you been doing today?" she asked, clearly amused by both my broke-ness and my puking sidekick.

I was barely out of the door before the taxi took off chaotically. The gust of wind it created knocked me off my feet, and I found myself with a mouth full of foliage for the second time the day.

Spitting out a clump of grass and dirt I flopped over to see Georgie smirking over me. "Graceful, as always."

"Don't mess with me, it's been a terrible day. Like, a nine on the Suck-o-Meter."

Her eyebrows went up into her hairline. "A nine? I'm impressed. On a good day, I can only get, like, a seven."

"Well, it started out as a four." I couldn't look at Georgie directly. Her skin was so pale that it reflected the sun, so you needed sunglasses to be with her outside. I looked over at Alby instead.

Georgie did too. Alby was still slightly hunched over, but she had managed to straighten. "That's a horrible sweater," muttered Georgie to me. But she went over and held out her hand politely, like her southern mother had taught her. "Georgia Lucas," she introduced.

Alby looked at her hand weakly. "I don't think you want to hold my hand," she said, nearly whispering as she wiped at her mouth.

"Not really," Georgie agreed, so she just patted her on the back instead.

With one touch, Alby crumpled onto the dirty ground in a dead faint.

The other girl jumped backwards, hands held up in surrender. "Wasn't me!" she declared loudly.

"She's had a terrible day, too," I explained, picking myself up.

"How terrible?" asked my friend, turning Alby over gingerly.

"It's probably been a ten."

Georgie whistled, doubly impressed. "Who is she?"

"I..." I started. "I have no idea..."

Alby snorted a bit. "The ghosts..." she whispered beneath her breath, I'm not even sure Georgie heard. Her eyelids fluttered and she looked at me, barely seeing. "I...hate taxis..."

"Would you rather we'd hitchhiked?" I joked.

"Yes," she said after a moment, and then she went limp again.

"I think Chiron better have a look at her," Georgie decided, adjusted the unconscious girl.

I paused. "And Mr. D, too."

She looked at me curiously.

"It's a long story," I said flatly.

"And for the love of the gods, get her a different shirt," muttered Georgie. "That pattern is blinding."

Silently I agreed and looked down the street in the direction the Gray Sisters had taken off in. "The ghosts will tell, but they don't know?" I asked.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," I said quickly. "It's just a riddle, I guess."

"We're heroes," reasoned Georgie. "What isn't a riddle?"

**Keep the ball rolling!**

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	6. Where the Crazy is Managed

**So...it's been a while...hasn't it...?**

**I AM SO SORRY.**

**I had driver's ed. It's the stupidest thing. EVER. Three hours just sitting in a classroom learning how to drive from a book and Oprah specials. **

**It's not a fun time.**

**Read this chapter and forgive me. **

In the end, Alby ended up having to be carried up the hill bridal style, and Georgie certainly wasn't offering.

"She's like a twig!" she insisted. "She's can't be that heavy."

"You should see all of the soda and fruit snacks this girl can pack away," I countered, adjusting her so that her bony elbow was stabbing me in the ribs.

Georgie grinned. "Well, she left it all back by the road." She pointed back towards where we'd walked from jerkily, like she was on a sugar high. And usually she was.

Then she looked up at the sun. "Besides, I don't want her getting in the way of my tan."

It was literally impossible not to laugh at that. Georgie was the kind of pale that causes people to stare as they pass by. You could see the blue webbing of her veins at a casual glace. She had long, wavy dark red hair and grey eyes rimmed red from over-caffeination, and she was nearly as tall as I was.

She opened the door of the Big House for me, so I didn't have to shove it open with Alby's head. We were positioning her on the couch in the main room when Chiron came in, in all of his horsy glory. "Nico!"

"Hiya..." I waved meekly.

"Where have you been!" he demanded, in full teacher-mode.

"Well, I—"

"You said you were going out for lunch."

"I did!"

"It's almost seven o' clock!"

"It was a long lunch!" I exclaimed. "Actually, I never really got to lunch. I sort of set the building on fire, first..."

Georgie and Chiron both shouted, "WHAT?" in harmony. Alby stirred slightly on the couch.

"Chiron! Injured! Crazy. Fix," I tried, moving out of the way so that he could get a good look. It might have been bad to distract him with a sick child, but, hey, whatever works. We've already clarified that I don't have any sympathy. We can go ahead and cross empathy off the list as well.

He glared at me, like her fainting was my fault. (Georgie says that it was, considering I called that taxi, but I think that the falling out of the window was what did it, and she did that on her own.)

"Can you get Mr. D, too?" I asked.

Georgie looked at me. "I'll get him," she said, racing through the door Chiron had entered from.

"Careful," called Chiron absently. "I just beat him at pinochle, and he's a bit moody."

"So, the usual then?" I snickered. Then I paused. "Is he right behind me?"

"No," said Mr. D from behind me.

I cursed gleefully and got out of his way.

He looked at me coldly. "What's wrong with the girl?" I tried to look him in the eyes, but it was hard, because his mint-green tiger print tracksuit was incredibly distracting. No fair.

"Well, she's insane, to start with."

Georgie looked surprised. Mr. D was intrigued. "I love those ones," he said idly, waving his diet coke in the air. Georgie flinched away to avoid getting pelted by soda.

He pushed Chiron away and put a hand on Alby's forehead.

"Crazy?" I inquired.

"A bit," Mr. D grunted. Then he frowned.

"What?" I asked nervously.

He didn't reply.

"I'm sure it's nothing," assured Chiron.

"Ho ho!" exclaimed Mr. D, cheeks red, like overgrown cherub. If it weren't for his ban, I would expect he was drunk. "Haven't had one of these in a while."

"One of what?" Georgie asked, beating me to the punch.

"Oh, nothing!" he practically sang. Which was more disturbing than when he made you imagine you were getting turned into a dolphin.

Whenever D is that happy, you know that something bad is going to happen. It's a sure sign of the apocalypse.

"Well, can you just fix her and stop prancing around in mirth?" I demanded waspishly. Like I said, it had not been a good day, and a happy Mr. D was just too much.

He fixed me with a dark eyed glare, and I froze a little on the inside. I fidgeted a bit until he was satisfied with my discomfort, and then he took a swig of coke and smacked Alby on the top of the head. "Done."

It was a minute before I regained my senses. "That's it?" I said incredulously.

D didn't even bother looking at me. "Neil, the only reason she's crazy is because she's been told that she is for her entire life. And also because she's been isolated for so long. Hardly a challenge. Even easier than fixing rabies." Then he just walked out of the room.

And, because even the fantastic Nico di Angelo couldn't think of anything to say to that, I just kept quiet.

It was Georgie who finally broke the silence. "So she's crazy?" Her finger nails tapped on the table frantically, annoyingly.

"Was!" called Mr. D. I could hear the snap of him opening a second can.

"That might explain a bit," said Georgie, peering out at Alby through a fringe of her hair.

"Might explain what?" I asked, thinking, _Good gods, somebody explain something to me, today._

"She's got this...shadow," she answered with a vague wave of her hand. And then, perhaps seeing my face and deeming her explanation severely lacking, she added, "Like she's dreaming."

"So, she's dreaming," I said with a shrug. "What's that got to do with being crazy?"

"It's _like_ dreaming," Georgie corrected. And she was a daughter of Hypnos, so she knew her stuff. "It isn't actually dreaming. It's too...big, and dark. And kind of swirling? Like a nightmare, only different."

"Georgie?"

"Yes?"

"Have I ever told you that I hate it when you go in circles?"

"Yes, Nico," she said, laughing. "I'll let it settle and get back to you in the morning."

"Can you, like, see what it is? Can't you do that sort of thing?" I queried.

"It's hard if I don't do it while they fall asleep, like I can't get the right frequency," she said slowly. She looked warily at the air around Alby, where I assumed this dream-but-not-a-dream shadow was swirling. "Also, I'm not sure I want to..."

All of a sudden, Georgie flinched spastically and Alby's eyes opened so fast I could almost hear them snap.

But instead of looking around nervously at finding herself in a place she didn't recognize surrounded by people she didn't know, she just laid stock-still, eyes big as tennis balls. She blinked a few times.

"Hello," she said Chiron, glancing at his horsy half and deciding not to comment on it. She sat up stiffly, like her upper half was made of cardboard. "It's nice not having to swallow pills after waking up in the morning."

"It isn't morning," I told her. "We got out of the taxi, you puked, and then you fainted."

She shuddered. "Taxi's." Then she glanced over at Georgie. "Georgia Lucas!" she exclaimed, overly excited.

Georgie smiled uncertainly. "I don't know your name, sorry."

Alby clapped enthusiastically. "You're southern!" she squealed with glee.

I blinked and wondered how she figured that out. Then I remembered that Georgie had a southern accent. Weird. I'd been around her so much I didn't even notice it.

"Still don't know your name," said Georgie. Then she glanced back at me, eyebrows raised, like, _You sure D fixed her?_

"Alber...Alby!" she corrected herself. "Short for Alberta. Alberta/Alby Pfeiffer!"

"Isn't it a terrible name?" I whispered.

She coughed, which may or may not have been a snort in disguise. Or maybe not. Georgie's laugh was unattractive at best. I would know.

I remembered something Alby had said earlier. "You said you had dreams?"

I felt bad for asking, because her little face fell like a child's when they didn't get anything for Christmas.

But I didn't feel nearly bad enough, because, remember, I don't have emotion. So when she mumbled in the affirmative, I asked, "Were you dreaming then?"

Alby frowned and fiddled with a hole in the couch. "I don't want to talk about it," she mumbled. I'd noticed she had a habit of mumbling.

"Are they bad dreams?" pushed Georgie flatly, leaning against the wall a safe distance away, so that if Alby went feral she could use my body as a shield.

On the couch, Alby widened the hole with a tug and glared at her, which was shocking. "I said that I don't want to talk about the dreams," she said firmly. She didn't snap or anything, but she was definitely firm.

Like, uncharacteristically firm.

But, then again, I hadn't even known her a full 24 hours, so my judgment must be taken with a grain of salt. Maybe she was secretly bipolar. I really wouldn't be surprised.

"Weird dreams are perfectly normal for demigods," said Georgie, and I had a feeling she was going to go into a lecture, because she took dreams very seriously. But she stopped upon seeing the stony glare Alby was giving her. I whistled in appreciation of the sheer vehemence of it.

Chiron felt like it was time to change the subject. "How old are you, dear?"

It was kind of sad when she had to think about it. "Fifteenish."

He looked at me. "Isn't she a little old? Has she been claimed?"

I don't know why he asked me instead of her, but there you go. "I'm not sure. I don't think she is, either." I filled them in on the days adventures. Alby was more or less quiet, except for when we got to the part with the taxi, where she muttered shocking profanities under her breath.

She didn't say anything when I skimmed over the bit where she executed a perfect, lethal thrust before we left. Or, in retrospect, when she'd figured out the crossbow in record time and shot with surprising accuracy. She glanced up at me, but I couldn't tell what she was thinking.

Alby wiggled her nose. "Excuse, but I don't what a demigod is, or why there are monsters, or why this man is a horse, and I'm extremely tired. I didn't get my naptime today because a strange boy appeared in my bedroom, and I would very much enjoy not being confused." There was a slight pause, and then she wailed, "Where did the other five eyes go!"

Georgie gave me a look. _What have you brought to us, Nico? What have you created?_

I shrugged, but I was laughing on the inside.

"Nico," said Chiron carefully. "Why don't you go and get a spot open for her in cabin #11."

Georgie waved her fingers at me mockingly as I slunk to the door. "Ta ta!" she sang.

"You, too," said Chiron.

I stuck my tongue out at her as she walked over sullenly to join me. I suppose I deserved the punch in the ribs that I got.

I really should have seen it coming. I was getting sloppy.

It was getting dark outside. That in between time when then sky is every color and the sun isn't giving you skin cancer. Nymphs raced into the forest and a few campers were finishing up a late game of volleyball, but other than that, the camp with abnormally still.

We walked to the cabin in relative silence. It felt weird, after such an action packed day. I hadn't realized that Alby had literally been chattering away the entire time.

Usually, Georgie wasn't the silent type, either. I looked over at her, and she was biting the inside of her thumb, like she did when she was thinking. "What's up?"

She looked over at me, her eyes drooping, and I wondered when her last cup of coffee was. Estimating by how tired she looked, I'd say it had been at least a half hour. "Nothing," she said tersely. Then, she rubbed her neck. I winced as she popped it. "You just have interesting friends."

"She isn't a friend," I said, probably too quickly.

Georgie eyed me skeptically. "Carried her dead weight up a hill after she'd spewed all over the road and you hardly complained."

"I complained!" I insisted indignantly. I had a reputation to uphold.

We'd reached the cabin by that point. Georgie turned over her shoulder and said, "Nico, you have puke on your shirt. Did you notice?"

I looked down. There was a dark spot all over my left side. I vaguely remembered noting it on the way up. "Gross..." I tried. I mean, it was.

But I'd carried her anyway.

She snorted. "Yeah," she scoffed, knocking on the door. "Not friends."

**AND THERE YOU GO.**

**I'll work really hard on the next chapter, I promise! I have a fifteen hour drive to Denver on the third, so...**

**I'll at least have SOMETHING.**

**I hope.**

**REVIEW, MY MINIONS.**

**...please?**


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